Guns and Mirrors

FORTY-ONE

♕Harley Anderson♕

I punch the bag with as much strength as I can muster so that the bag swings around in a circular motion on the chains. Without much thought, my eyes move to the door every few seconds and I eventually let out a sigh, turning around and bending down to pick up my water bottle. While I'm taking a long gulp, I turn around to see Cyrus coming in. His blond hair is disheveled, sticking up in every direction and he looks stressed out as hell. Along with that, he isn't dressed in gym clothes and I raise an eyebrow, propping one hand on a hip.

"You're..." I look down at my watch. "You're two hours late. If I knew you weren't going to pitch, I would have told Cameron not to drop me off."

Cyrus pulls off his leather jacket, throwing it on the floor and walking over to me. He runs a hand through his hair, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry." He says, rubbing a hand over his face. "We were..." he seems to be trying to think of what he wants to say.

"What?" I snap, getting impatient as he tries to think of an answer. "Can't think of a suitable lie huh?" I sneer, shaking my head before closing my water bottle. I'm well aware that he isn't lying... he was dealing with the fact that Enrique managed to buy the port in Pittsburgh which Ramiro explained to me last night when he was waiting for confirmation.

But a part of me likes to make Cyrus feel guilty, likes to see him having to decide being loyal to the gang or being honest with me. So even though I know the truth, I still say what I do anyway.

"No, of course not. We're just having issues okay? Jack is panicked so I was trying to deal with it. I'm lucky I even managed to get an hour free to come here." He explains and I cross my arms over my chest, the skin on my arms sticking to my torso because of the sweat. Even though Cyrus wasn't here to really direct me, I took upon myself to warm up and then begin the punching.

"What issues?" I press further, noticing how Cyrus's green eyes look between my own, mouth opening but not saying anything.

"You know I can't tell you that."

Letting out a sarcastic laugh, I nod as I pick up my water bottle. "Yep, even after you've kept me waiting for two hours- when a Kings member could have walked in any moment and lodged a bullet in my brain- you still can't be honest with me."

I make a move to walk away, rounding the punching bag but Cyrus grabs my forearm to stop me and I spin around.

"I'm sorry okay? I didn't mean to keep you waiting. But things are really a mess right now and I was trying to get shit in order. I'm here now and for the next hour, I'm focusing on you and only you alright?" He offers me, hand still clasped around my arm. Letting out a sigh I nod and Cyrus lets go before offering a small relieved smile. I put my bottle down and follow Cyrus to the mat.

"Also, by the way, I don't think keeping a key under the front mat is a smart idea." I remark and Cyrus nods.

"Yeah but it comes in handy in cases like this. Anyway, I'm assuming you warmed up?"

I nod, gesturing at my body that's coated in sweat. Cyrus sighs, pulling his shirt off and my eye catches the tattoo on the side of his ribs- my birth date- and I look away, bringing my hands up in front of my face in a defense position. Cyrus does the same and we begin practicing. Practicing- or training, rather- with Cyrus is a lot less intense than when I do it with Danté. A part of me knows it's because Cyrus doesn't want to hurt me, given our past and history, while Danté isn't afraid to push me up against the wall until I'm punching him to let go. But I prefer it this way... I trust Danté enough to know that he'll push me to the edge but won't let me fall off, Cyrus on the other hand... he may be more like my father than I anticipate.